The Biology of Vulcans
by Loserx0rz
Summary: Accomplished Vulcan anthropologist Moira Blackwood was once Amelia, daughter of Terran ambassador Hartwood, and in those days her only friend was the son of her tutor, Spock. Now the two of them must work on an assignment together, and face their pasts...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lost and Found

Dr. Moira Blackwood hadn't been aware that she was missing until she was found. It came at great surprise—and some bewilderment—when she got the hailing frequency of the U.S.S. Enterprise on her transmitter. Moira had just finished inputting another chunk of data into the mainframe she'd been working on almost exclusively for three solar years, and was just about to consider breaking for a sandwich when she heard the beep of a hailing. Somewhat annoyed at the interruption, Moira tore her reading glasses off and swung around in her wheeled chair to flip on the 'open' switch.

"Yes?"

"This is the U.S.S. Enterprise," came the official reply, "Lt. Uhura speaking. Is this Dr. Moira Blackwood?"

Intrigued and, despite herself, somewhat amused, Moira swung her legs up onto the metal table and leaned back in the worn chair. Ah, Starfleet. For some reason the name of the ship rang a chord with her, but the reason refused to surface in her mind.

"This is she, Lieutenant. Can I help you in some way?"

"This is Captain Kirk speaking." The voice changed from a deep, rich woman's voice to a light, authoritative man's. It was attractive enough, and innately confident, and she could easily fit it to some space-cowboy with a golden smile and a reputation to match.

"Hello, Captain. As I said, can I help you? I wasn't expecting any word from the Federation for some time yet, and certainly not a personal visit. I'm afraid I'm a little confused here."

From his seat on the bridge Kirk leaned forward, his usual rampant energy channeling through a tapping of fingers on the arm of his chair. He had a small smile on his lips as he listened to her friendly yet prim reprimand. They were intruding, her voice clearly said, no matter what her polite inquiry stated. From the photo they had on file, the good doctor was very attractive, and her voice fit the image well, with just enough deep huskiness to remind him of dark rooms and whispered words… And that certainly never hurt. His smile widened.

"We're sorry to distract you, Dr. Blackwood, but this is a routine checkup on your facility. Your sector of space here has been under blackout of communication for some time. Klingons," he added for proper effect. "Nobody has been able to contact you, and seeing as you weren't expecting them to, you probably didn't notice. Still, a lot of the surrounding planets have been sieged and destroyed." He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath over the speakers, but he continued. "You were probably spared because this is, essentially, an abandoned and inhospitable planet. It's only you and a small research team, and I correct?"

Destroyed? Moira focused on that one fact and shuddered compulsively. Space was a great mystery, an undeniable adventure, but she was reminded that it could also be very dangerous. Blinking and glancing around her small station, Moira struggled to find her balance again, a hand at the hollow of her throat. When she spoke again, she was relieved to find her voice professional and untainted.

"Yes, that's right. I have three assistants, but this planet has no other life. We're just researchers, captain, we aren't equipped for defense, much less attack. Simple scholars." He detected that her concern lay more with her team members than for herself, and Kirk respected that. When his voice came back on, it was somehow more somber, and more understanding.

"Yes, I know, and it's good to find all of you alive and well. Too often that isn't the case." Moira accepted that statement with an unseen nod, groping for her container of cold coffee substitute.

"So then, what comes now, Captain?"

"Kirk, please." Her lips curved up a fraction. "And, finding you alive, we send a message back to Starfleet for further orders. They will decide what happens to your project from here. In the meantime we will be of service to you, if you should require anything." The way he put emphasis on the last word drew a chuckle from her, and she took a sip from her mug, pretty sure she had the good Captain's number.

"I appreciate the offer, Kirk, but personally I'm quite fine. I'll relay your message to my team nonetheless, however, and get back to you on that. Goodbye for now." Easily cutting of their connection, she shook her head, and didn't hear the hearty laugh from the bridge of the Enterprise as Kirk sat back in his seat.

"She was a live one, wasn't she?" He mentioned aloud to no one in particular, grinning with his good mood. "Nice to find someone alive and perfectly fine out here, especially after so many years. You never know what could happen." Punching a button on the arm of the chair, he called for the Medical wing, and was immediately patched through. "Bones, everyone's alive on Vergon. At some point or another, I suppose you'll want to take a look at them."

Doing his best impression of scowling through words, the cantankerous southern doctor scoffed his reply.

"They're damned lucky to be alive, living all the way out here in this vacuum of nothing! What are they even up to, anyway?"

Taking the cranky volume as his friend's way of being concerned, Kirk pulled up the document on their lovely Ms. Blackwood again. No doubt the doctor would find her as… stimulating as he did.

"Apparently Moira Blackwood is one of the leading doctors studying Vulcan and Romulan anthropology. That planet used to be an old Vulcan/Romulan home world, back before the two split. It's a pretty big gold mine of anthropological gems I suppose, and it could give the Federation a lot on both cultures."

"Bah," summed up Bones' opinion. Leonard McCoy let everyone know how he felt about space. "We'll never understand Vulcan's anyway—why bother trying?"

"Just make sure they're healthy, hm?" after a non-committal noise Kirk punched the button again, focusing back on the bridge which hardly needed his attention. Waiting was the name of the game now, since Uhura had already sent out the message of their success. Just biding time until orders were given to be carried out. He was handed an engineering report by a young yeoman, and he smiled at her absently as he signed the PADD, missing the flush that overcame her as she walked away. James T. Kirk never would have considered anyone on his ship in that way regardless, but pretty young doctors with bedroom voices…

Those were a completely different barrel of Tribbles.

Considering the woman in question, Kirk perched his chin in his palm and looked right, towards the science station, where his trusted first officer sat scanning for anomalies. Wondering what Mr. Spock had to say on the matter, he asked. After all, Spock _was _a Vulcan. Maybe he knew more on the project, or the planet. If nothing else, Kirk always liked to have his logical friend's opinion on things. They didn't always agree, but Spock's brain was undeniably a fascinating one—to use one of his own favorite words.

Not perturbed at all by the sudden question, (or at least not visibly,) Spock sat back to properly consider the facts. That was something you could always count on—a rational, fully thought-out reasoning. Impulse was foreign to him, or so he said… of course Kirk had served with him long enough to suspect that Spock might be more human than he let on, but he was always coolly (and logically) disproved on the matter.

"I have heard of Vergon mentioned in early texts, dating before Surak," he relayed, perfectly composed and fingers steepled thoughtfully. Ah, ever the picture of the unflappable Vulcan. "No doubt there is much to be learned about my ancestors there. I should like to look over any research published from their findings. Ms. Blackwood's credentials are flawless, and in fact quite substantial. She seems anxious to continue her work."

There was a strong urge to ask him what he thought of her on a personal level, but Kirk knew it would be useless. If Spock had opinions on anything physical, he kept them firmly to himself, which was sometimes a little disappointing.

"Well, you have the conn then," he said, stretching as he stood to pop his cramped muscles, "I think I might hit the gym while we're playing the waiting game." Standing to the side, he let Spock pass, then put a hand on the other man's bony shoulder in comrade-like fashion. "If any Klingons show up, you'll call, won't you?"

"Of course, Captain," the Vulcan answered, his dark, angular brows raised in question. Kirk sighed inwardly. No matter how long they spent in one another's company, he thought, Spock was never going to get his humor completely.

"Of course," he echoed, and with the mechanical whir of the turbolift doors, he took his leave of the bridge.

* * *

Not in the best of moods, Moira nonetheless found herself cataloguing artifacts for travel, hoping that nobody came upon her in her current state. Occasionally, when something would get the best of her normally well-kept temper, Moira preferred to spend time alone and unwind before re-joining the rest of the world. Now, what with a looming foreclosure of the entire project floating above her head, she knew she didn't have the luxury of time to spend ridding herself of her black thoughts.

Although her hands were gentle as she handled the delicate remnants of a long-gone people, the rest of her was wired with suppressed energy.

Honestly, who did they all think they were? Before her face could fall into a grimace Moira heard tentative footsteps wandering through the storage room, and she set down the pot she was marking to turn and greet her guest. Of course she knew who it was already; after all, you couldn't live with three people for three years without getting to know as much about them as you knew about yourself.

Lena was a small, dark woman, with a young complexion and wide eyes that gave her the appearance of a child. Still, she was sweet and soft-spoken, incredibly considerate, and more importantly, she was extremely intelligent. As acting doctor for their base, Lena was also a highly renowned Terran expert on Vulcan and Romulan anatomy, and she was invaluable when studying remains. Trying with some concentration to wipe away any indication of her personal problems, Moira gave Lena a smile.

"Hey, just finishing up some packing from the last excursion. What's up?" Built something like a small pixie, and well under Moira's own five-foot-ten, Lena fiddled with the sleeve of her blouse and spent a few moments trying for eye-contact.

"Is it true, what they're saying about Klingons in the sector?" Immediately Moira cursed herself, wishing she'd called a meeting instead of letting her crew terrify one another with rumors. Some project leader she was.

"I'm afraid so, at least that's what the Captain said. He's assured me that we're safe, for the moment being." Letting her eyes drift up, some of the worry that had been mixing with tension showed clearly on her face. "To be honest, Lena, we're probably going to be shut down." She heard the other woman give a sound of dismay, and she felt it echoed in a tug at her own heart. "I know. We've made some great strides here over the last three years, but there's so much more, and it breaks my heart to think what we may have to give up. Still, if what Kirk said was true, I can't imagine them letting us stay out here, not with Klingons blowing up our space. Maybe if I convinced him to just leave me…"

"You'll do no such thing," Lena admonished in a strong tone that had Moira's gaze focusing back on her. "That's just silly. If they say we can stay, we will stay, but if they force us to leave, we will simply come back again… _Together_."

_Well well,_ Moira thought to herself, _wasn't that sweet? _ Nodding, she found that some of her stress had lifted. "You're right, of course. Thanks, Lena. Actually, could you round up the guys and get them in the main lounge? I think I want to have a talk with everyone." Lena smiled shyly and nodded, as if even she couldn't really believe her own outburst, and was soon out of sight. Sighing, Moira finished labeling the box, and with the kind of care a mother might show with a newborn, laid the pot down into the packing with a feather touch. After she was sure that it wouldn't move an inch, she slid the box onto one of the enormous shelves with the rest of their work, and pulling off her gloves exited the storage unit and headed down the hallway.

Their station on Vergon had become as much—or more, she mused—of a home to her as any other place had ever been. From a childhood of instability, Moira had learned to be flexible, and could make almost anywhere habitable, for however long she was there. She'd chosen a profession that could potentially station her in any reach of the galaxy, for any length of time, and it suited her perfectly fine. Maybe she would wonder, during slow points, what it would feel like to have somewhere to land when everything was said and done, somewhere to run _to _when her entire life was full of sprinting to see around the next corner. But, in the end, she kept doing exactly what she'd done the day before. Routine was a comfort, she mused—not a rut.

Walking into the lounge, she freed her hair from its band, hoping to ward off the headache she could feel beginning to brew in the back of her skull. With her shoulder-blade-length goldenrod hair loose around her shoulders, she began to pour herself a cup of the sludge they settled on for coffee. On the other side of the room, the rest of the planet's inhabitants were comfortably conversing amongst themselves, aware that Moira needed time to settle before launching into her announcements.

Their little, intimate group… Just four people who had become close, in more than a professional way. Tiny, pretty Lena was squished cozily on the long couch between two men who were both talking animatedly. They were both young, in the first grueling assignment of their respective careers, and exuded a boyish charm that Moira found perfectly harmless but endearing. Eric, his curly blonde hair in a waving halo around his charming face, was very unexpectedly a veritable whiz at mechanics. He kept the station running smoothly, and had many interesting insights when they found tools and technology on the planet. Ryan, slightly older with a ruddy complexion and hair the color of chestnuts, focused more on the domestic aspects of both their day-to-day living and their research. He could cook like a dream, clean without complaint, and had an innocence about him that rivaled Lena's. Moira suspected that the two of them may have something going on… At least if one of them would ever get up the courage to make a move. And now, well… They may not get the chance.

With a tiny heaving sigh, Moira gripped her mug for comfort and went to spread the news.

* * *

"We have our own doctor, Captain, which I'm sure you're aware of. We're all healthy as horses, so really, we don't require your chief medical officer to waste his time." Practically spitting with indignant anger, but barely managing to tamp it down, Moira fought the urge to bash her head against the walls. Couldn't he see that there was _work _that needed done? She didn't have the time to share idiotic chats with him, let alone waste valuable working time letting his doctor poke and prod her crew.

If the man needed something to keep him occupied, she would be more than happy to punch him and give him a _real _injury to focus on.

"Regulations state that you must be seen by a member of my medical staff while we're here," Kirk insisted, his arguments half-hearted because even he found them inane. Since they were probably going to be pulled soon anyway, it would make more sense to just wait until they came onboard the Enterprise, but protocol often trumped logic. "I promise that, if you're all as well as you seem, it won't take more than a few moments of your time."

Seething, Moira was quiet for a few seconds to exercise her breathing techniques. Calmer, realizing that arguing with the man would get her nowhere, she finally acquiesced.

"Fine, Captain, I'll send your transporter room the coordinates of our medical lab. When can we expect your Doctor McCoy?" Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited while she heard a fuzzy conversation in the background.

"If you're agreeable, he says that he could beam down immediately."

"Peachy. I'll see him in a few minutes." And with a self-satisfying flick, she had once again severed their communications. It gave her a small amount of comfort that she could thumb her nose at his authority, even if she realized the childishness of it. The entire ordeal still had her up in arms. True to her word, she transmitted the coordinates, then she got on the loudspeaker system to the entire base.

"This is Moira. I need everyone to wrap up whatever they're doing and head to the medical lab for a few minutes. Hopefully this won't take long. Over." Running a tired hand through the ash-blonde hair, Moira could hardly suppress a yawn. She'd been working long nights, practically round the clock for days, trying desperately to begin to finish all the things that needed completing. Now every time she examined an artifact she felt pride, but the pride was somewhat smothered with regret. The easy rhythm of her life, the excitement of discovery, was going to come to a halt very soon. It was no surprise to her that she had become emotionally attached, but she was doing her best to make the separation an easy one.

Walking down the hall she ran into Eric, and they fell into a friendly matching pace as they wandered through the halls. Looking bright-eyed and not a little winded, Moira surmised that he'd come from the engineering room, and the fact that he was speckled with oil stains didn't discount her assumption.

"Hot water heater took another hit today. If we do leave, I'll tell you what I won't miss. Waking up and getting into an ice-cold shower." He smiled, but it had lost some of its luster, and she knew that he was simply trying to make the best of the situation. Eric may have been a little excitable, but he had the same devotion to the assignment as the rest of them. Feeling a strong wave of affection, like from a teacher to a pupil, Moira slung her arm around his shoulders and gave him an awkward hug. Neither one of them commented on it, but they entered the medical lab that way, both content in the other's company.

Lena and Ryan were already present, and looked up from a private conversation as the other two entered. There was the faintest hint of a blush on both of their faces, and Moira had to keep from letting a very inappropriate grin cover her face. _That's it, hurry it up,_ she cheered them mentally.

There was a low whine, accompanied with a whirring of light in the shape of a human being, and then suddenly an older man was standing in the middle of their lab. He carried a tricorder and a medi-kit with an impatient look on his face, which cleared somewhat when he realized the trip was over.

Moira extended a hand, stepping forward from the group and establishing herself as its leader.

"Moira Blackwood, and I assume Dr. McCoy?" He took her offered hand philosophically, pumping with a firm grip that seemed fatherly, like the man who owned it. Not that her own father bore any resemblance at all to this man, but rather, he was what she would have _imagined _a father to be like. Thick brown hair swept to the side of a craggy face full of personality, wrinkles beginning around eyes that sparkled with a mischievous blue light. Once again Moira found herself drawn, no matter how much she had promised herself she wouldn't like the intruder, and she put more of herself into the handshake.

"That's me. Glad to arrive in one piece… I hate transporters, you know," he confided to her, looking around with a gruffness that seemed more inherent than immediate. His voice had just the slightest whisper of the old Terran south, and she realized that she immediately liked this honest, cranky figure.

"A necessary evil, I imagine," she replied with her own almond eyes alight, and Bones had the chance to think that they were almost brandy-colored in person. Since he was a man who respected and admired his drink, he chalked up another point for her on his 'like' column. If Jim got a real look at her, he considered, he was going to find himself smitten… _again_.

"Don't I know it. So, no matter what anyone says, I have to take a look at you. Any volunteers?" Moving to one of the two beds that jutted out from the wall, Leonard took out his medi-wand and stood waiting in his blue short-sleeved uniform shirt, a messy brown eyebrow raised in impatience. "Well?"

Even though Moira hated the idea of doctors—she was much too active of a person to have any tolerance for sickness, especially in herself—she felt it was her duty to make an example for the others. With a manful gulp and a fake look of apprehension for show, Moira wandered forward and lay on the other bed, her eyes following the doctor.

"Will it hurt?" she asked with exaggerated fear, and he gave a throaty laugh as he ran the wand along her body.

"Only if you sit up too fast and jab yourself with it."

"I don't see the point of this," commented Ryan from the desk where he sat, watching the proceedings with a frown on his face. "Lena is more than capable, she's been taking care of us for years." Looking over at him, Lena sent him an exasperated look, but her pink cheeks betrayed her pleasure at the compliment. McCoy sized her up, what little of her there was to size, and snorted.

"If my doctor looked like that pretty young woman, I'd probably complain about having to change to me as well. It's just red tape. Everything is political, you should know that by now."

"Too true," lamented Eric with undisguised disappointment in his voice. Lena patted his shoulder supportively.

"It'll be all right," she soothed in her light, airy voice, "Moira will figure out what to do."

On the table, Moira felt the tugging of her stomach muscles, and wished quite suddenly for an antacid to nibble on. Oh yes, she thought, Moira will have all the answers. Unfortunately, for once, Moira didn't know what to do any more than anyone else. Incredibly tired, she looked up into the squinted eyes of the doctor, who gave her a sympathetic look before stepping back.

"All clear. You're free to continue your duties. Next!" Sliding off the table, Moira moved aside for Lena who took her place. Although she was usually shy around strangers, she must have considered their similar professions a sort of bond, because she was able to easily strike up a conversation with the man. As they chuckled over some story that had to do with technical things Moira couldn't understand, she turned to the others and nodded over her shoulder.

"Cooperate, will you? Then go back to work. I want every 'T' crossed and every 'I' dotted, do you understand? They may pull this out from under our feet, but it'll be the best damn report they ever got. I don't want to give them any reasons not to let us back here once the smoke has cleared." The last part was said more to the room in general, and after a tense moment she swept out of the room, leaving everyone to look after her in awkward silence.

* * *

Days passed with a thick, syrupy silence, the heavy kind that came before a storm. After receiving a neat, tidy PADD report that her crew was all in excellent health, Moira hadn't heard from or seen a member of the Enterprise, and she could almost imagine it wasn't floating aimlessly in orbit around _her _planet.

But it was, and having it there made her feel more on-edge than safe. There was no real reason why, as far as she could see, but Moira often followed her gut… and it was that feeling that told her it wouldn't be long before she discovered just why she felt so antsy.

The others felt it, too, and she could tell the strain was eating at them. Try as she might her own frazzled moods were adding to the atmosphere, and it was something like walking a tightrope—where someone was going to take a tumble, and soon.

At any rate, the idea of their approaching deadline seemed to have the proper effect of melting Lena and Ryan's hesitant temperaments. With any luck at all, Moira thought when she caught them sharing long, doe-eyed looks in the corridors, Kirk would have a wedding to perform on his beloved ship. At least that would be one happy day in an otherwise dismal proceeding.

Moira fiddled with a curl of her hair as she sat at her cluttered desk, glasses on the bridge of her nose and eyes squinted nearly to slits. None of the words on the paper she was trying to read made any sense, and with a groan she sat back to scrub a hand over her face. Of course it was gibberish; she'd been awake 24 hours now, maybe more. Her brain was committing mutiny.

It was an important report for her files, but she felt she had to concede defeat, at least for the moment, or she'd do herself more harm than good. An endless work drive didn't usually constitute a character flaw, she thought blandly… At least until your quality suffered from it. Already dreaming of a date with her pillow, Moira stripped off her glasses and dug a few fingers into the back of her neck. Tension sat there like a boulder, and she gave into a tiny fantasy that included a massage. Maybe by a Betazoid—one who would know all the right places to rub.

What was quickly becoming a dream-worthy image was interrupted, however, before she could cross her tiny room to the inviting single bed. Suddenly too worn even to scowl, Moira backed up her plans of passing out to fit in one more question or concern—then she was hanging up the 'keep out' sign for six—maybe eight—blissful hours of nothing.

"Yes?" Choking on a yawn, Moira let the doors of her quarters slide open to reveal Lena. Still, it took her tired mind a minute to recognize the glowing, radiant woman in front of her, a positive compact ray of sunshine with her grey eyes lit like candle smoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you were about to go to bed," Lena noted instantly, still compassionate enough to be considerate even in her joy, "I'll come back tomorrow."

But her clearly-radiating zeal had already wiped the cobwebs out of Moira's mind, and before her guest could vanish she steered the small woman inside.

"Oh, no, I don't think so. You look like you've swallowed a star, and now that I'm hooked you can't leave me dangling. So, what happened? Spill." Barely containing herself, obviously too glad that she had been forced into telling, Lena managed to allow herself to be directed into the room and seated in the desk chair before she exploded—in true, overwhelming Lena fashion.

"I.. we… that is to say, I mean, he asked me…" Desperate to share her ecstasy through more than the words which wouldn't come, Lena gripped Moira's hands in her own smaller, darker ones. They were warm, and she squeezed tightly. "We're going to be married!"

"Are we?" Moira asked, barely able to keep a straight face. "But where's my ring? This isn't much of a proposal if you ask me."

"oh, Moira!" Unable to keep in a tittering laugh that bordered on slightly hysterical, Lena let her hands fly to her mouth, eyes huge and shining. "I'm just so happy, I could die… Or at least float. I _am _floating." Jumping up she paced, her sweet round face awash with a smile that threatened to split it in two. "Ryan, he… Well, we just… I couldn't believe it. I still can't. Pinch me, I'm dreaming. Oh, Moira, I'm going to be a bride!" _And you'll be excellent at it, _thought the older woman, her heart warm for the two people she loved who were so obviously in love with each other. She could only imagine how Ryan was reacting.

"So, where's the ring?" Moira teased, and Lena stuck out her left hand without hesitation. Calming a bit, she looked down at her finger where a piece of string was tied, but she didn't seem embarrassed or angry at the substitute. Instead, her eyes misted like the sea, and if there had been any doubt of her feelings, they were soon laid to rest.

"He didn't have anything here to give me… He said the replicator could have patched something together, but that the first ring on my finger would be one for keeps. So we used this instead—just temporarily."

"I'm so happy for you," Moira murmured softly, and realized with a jolt that she would really miss this friendship when they would inevitably split apart. "Really, I am, Lena. Ryan's so lucky to have you."

"He really is, isn't he?" On a hiccup of a giggle a few happy tears escaped, but she brushed them away impatiently. "I'm lucky, too. Moira, will you be my maid of honor? We were hoping for a bit of an old-fashioned ceremony, and, well…"

"Oh, Lena," was all Moira could manage, bending to encompass her friend in a hug. Her own tears burned in her eyes, and before she could stop them they began to flow. "God, I'm a wreck," she fretted, laughing and crying simultaneously. "I blame you."

"So you will?" Pulling back, Moira rolled her eyes and gave Lena a watery snort.

"Please, you couldn't keep me away. Now, I think this calls for some champagne—I'm pretty sure I have a bottle, somewhere." As she rummaged through her closet and under the bed, Moira was glad to let something strong and real, like love, block out the innumerable things that were wrong in their galaxy. This… This simple feeling of friendship, of hope, of rejoicing in the every-day miracles… This was the sort of thing cultures lived and died for.

She toasted Lena's happiness with a smile, not only on her face, but in her heart. For now, this was precisely what she needed.


	2. Chapter 2

Checkup

Leonard finished the knitting of a broken wrist with his mind largely on other matters. Luckily the procedure wasn't a complicated one, or particularly dangerous, because when he sent the thankful ensign on his way he could barely remember having performed it. The entire business on Vergon had him up in arms, and as usual a verbal sparring match with Spock had done nothing but rile him up. Also not unusual, the Vulcan wasn't taking anything seriously enough, and with a growl of impatience he imagined he was doing just the opposite.

Jim would no doubt be worrying just enough, but that was his job, and damn it, Leonard was a _doctor. _Nothing was happening, and there was nothing to do, which both added up to boredom and tension to deal with. He'd really rather not, if it was all the same. Obviously this place wasn't a pleasure cruise, but he preferred to avoid stress when at all possible. The best way to do that was with a friendly drink, and he knew exactly where to get one of _those._

Unable to sit still any longer, grumpy because he had the attention of a five-year-old (and the patience,) Bones leaned around the wall of his office and found the tall blonde he needed shelving medicine.

"Nurse Chapel, I'm going out, up to the bridge, probably. Call if you need me."

"Of course Doctor," Christine dismissed with a wave of her hand, clucking quietly under her tongue as he stormed off. For a medical chief, he had a rather high blood-pressure… Not that his moods weren't completely justified and understandable. The restlessness wasn't solely his. Things were unnaturally still, and it wasn't boding well for her, either. Maybe it wasn't good to try to pull things down upon their heads, but she wished they would just get over with it already.

Leonard wasn't the only person who was holding their breath on this ship.

While in the corridor, Bones clicked one of the wall communicators, and after a short question was told Jim—the Captain—was in his quarters. Somewhat testily he snapped it off again, then took a turbo-lift to the next level, where important personnel were assigned their living arrangements.

There was almost nothing Jim could have been doing that he wouldn't put down to talk to a member of his crew if he was needed. When he discovered it was the doctor, he let the doors slide open, and a wry smile that was nonetheless welcoming sprang to his lips.

"You and Spock aren't going at it again, are you? Because I've hung up my mediator hat for the night, you know." Stepping back Kirk gestured to the seat at his desk, and Bones let himself feel at home in the two-room suite, the same in layout as his own. As Captain's went, the ex-cowboy from Iowa was a pretty relaxed one, and his room reflected those tastes. It held personal objects, bits of who he was and his life, but it was also accommodating for others. More than being Captain, more than being Jim, he made a good transition to being both at once. Ingrained one within the other so they were the same.

Sniffing delicately at the tumbler half-full of brandy on the desk, Leonard sent Jim an appreciative glance, one that conveyed the message perfectly.

"Glad to see you're finding your own way to deal with all this," Bones pointed out with a nod in that direction.

"Borrowing one of your favored methods, Doc," Kirk chuckled, already heading for the cupboard to grab another glass and the bottle. "Want one?"

"Well, I'd hate to impose, but it would be remiss to let you drink alone. As your doctor—"

"You're also my wing-man?" Jim finished, shooting a grin with his use of the old-fashioned clubbing term. Nothing appealed to him as much as history and antiques, preferably together, and words were no exception. The other man shrugged, not really getting the comment, but it didn't deter their personal comfort in one another's company. That was just Jim, after all, and if it was anything important he would considerately translate.

Once drinks had been distributed and refreshed all-around, and Leonard was already feeling warm enough to swirl his snifter, Jim wound the conversation to a topic which he found himself wanting to discuss, and had for some time.

"So what did you think of our local anthropologist?" he posed, and watched with easy contentment as his friend aligned his personal opinions.

"You'd like her. You already do," he acknowledged with a nod and a dip of his glass. It wasn't a question. "She's just as strong and… feisty, I suppose, in person. Funny, too, and she must be a pretty good leader—her assistants were all crazy about her. A lot like you." Which part of the comment was meant for comparison remained ambiguous, but Bones let it lay and held up the tumbler to watch the amber liquid inside as it reflected light off the ice in the glass. Like her eyes, he remembered before taking a slow sip. Still, even as she was deceptively fragile and more than just lovely in passing, Bones had gotten quite a few impressions from their short contact—the most over-lying of which had been her blatant emotional unavailability.

Moira had sized him up quickly, which was a surprise from a scientist who didn't usually have dealings in living people, so the trait itself fathered a wellspring of other questions. Once finding him harmless, though, she had allowed herself to fall into an easy rhythm of banter that was friendly but cool. It clearly stated disinterest, but not, he thought with (he hoped) no input from his ego, because of disinterest in him _personally_, or even men in general.

She was an impenetrable fortress who looked like a princess they were supposed to protect. Who exactly held the key, he thought with vague interest, was a mystery.

Yet Jim was a friend, and the mood was too cheery to bog down with all of those intricate notes.

"To women," he said aloud, raising his mostly-empty drink in toast, "and all the riddles that make them what they are."

"Amen," agreed Kirk, and belted back the rest of his own. On cue his computer lit up with a summons, and before Leonard had the time to curse mildly Jim was already sighing with his duty, setting aside the glass to pull on the necessary vision of command. He took off the mantel of the man, and became in essence entirely captain.

"Kirk here."

"Captain," came Spock's tempered voice, deep as usual to fit his placid image that quickly came on-screen.

"Ah, Spock! Come have a drink with us. Oh, that's right, Vulcan's don't drink. No worries—you wouldn't recognize a drunk if it bit you." Bones waved at the screen, obviously tipsy, and except for a casual sideways glance Spock mostly ignored him. Kirk nudged the doctor aside, not wanting to get in the middle when other things were obviously more pressing.

"Sorry, Spock, ignore him."

"I often endeavor to do so."

"What's the news?" Although his disciplined Vulcan exterior gave nothing away to a casual observer, even over the computer Kirk could still pick up the minute sharpening of features, the way his shoulders were stiffened ever-so-slightly, the darkening of his eyes. He communicated, quite seriously, with his eyes.

"As we suspected, Captain, orders have just come to bring a halt to Ms. Blackwood's research project. Regrettable, but as soon as possible."

"And?" Sharpening out of the haze of alcohol, Bones had made himself focus on the pointy-eared devil on the console, realizing that Jim had picked up something he had not. In a flash, he got the premonition of a long night, and with a sigh resigned himself to needing to rid himself of the effects of the brandy much earlier than he had hoped.

Yes, there was definitely more.

"The report gives high warnings of Klingon activity in the area. When this was sent out they were nearby—undoubtedly shielded, observing, which is why we could not detect them. It is my opinion that, by now, the Klingons could hardly be oblivious to our presence here."

Tensing up, Kirk immediately took on the air of command. Not that he hadn't been expecting news like that, but the idea that Klingons were waiting around instead of making the first move not only irked him, but it threw him off his normal game. Klingons were warriors, they weren't usually tactical. What could they possibly be thinking? Regardless, he needed to take command of his ship. Preparations needed to be made—and the first and foremost topic on his agenda was getting Moira and her team to the Enterprise, pronto.

"I'm on my way, Spock."

* * *

Spock was ruffled, and though he strove as usual not to let it show, he was not immune to the same inner uneasiness as the rest of the ship. This was what puzzled him, as much a question as an annoyance, because usually he could remain stalwart and aloof from such problems. What was the difference in this case? Of course he wished to preserve human life—the Captain hadn't exaggerated in his comment that their routine visits more often than not revealed disasters of one type or another. Not entirely satisfied with that explanation, however, he mulled on it further, his outer shell a statue of calm.

After receiving the assignment Spock had pulled up everything on Moira Blackwood the computer had recorded as routine, wanting to be completely informed. His scholarly respect went to her without reserve… there was no doubt that she was certainly the most accomplished researcher on his people, at least for one who was _not _Vulcan, and her knowledge didn't simply stop there. More than once she had been reportedly called in to conference to aid the Federation with Romulan matters, and Spock had no trouble accepting this. Rather, he would welcome it, since he conceded that she seemed to know more on his war-like brethren than even he, and he kept himself excellently up-to-date on any and all findings.

No, he could not find fault in her academics, and as far as he could recall he did not know her. Perhaps her voice over the speaker had sparked some sort of reaction, unfortunately, but that was inconclusive at best, and reasonably ignored. Pursuing the matter would ease his ill-fitting curiousity, but unless she was a threat, and that he _really _had no reason to believe, Moira Blackwood was just another scientist. Highly decorated, possessing of many laurels and accolades, but still of no immediate concern. It would be illogical to think otherwise, so he said nothing at all of the line of his thoughts as he allowed Jim to his rightful place at the con. Going back to his own station, Spock set himself to practicing his Vulcan discipline to the fullest, and put the matter out of mind.

There wasn't the slightest doubt in him that what the planet's inhabitants needed right now was calm, rational logic. Reading the data the computer marked off on his screen, he relayed status and coordinates. He could provide that, if not his own answers.

* * *

After sleeping most of their planet's day Moira once again found herself prowling the facility at night, some sort of haunting specter that pushed paperwork and drank too much coffee. It had happened more than once, of course, but unlike all the other times Moira could take no comfort in the job she performed, or even her secret pleasure of having an entire planet to herself. Instead of feeling free, she simply felt… alone?

If it was silly, at least there was no one else to see it clearly on her unguarded face.

Drifting in thought for the billionth time she sighed, abandoning her desk in favor of performing another check around the complex. The movement would give her restless legs something to do, and with any luck let her over-active mind settle to the mundane and let her get something done.

Moira knew the buildings like the back of her hand—ha d overseen their construction and indeed had proved an integral part of making them what they were. In a very real way the entire project was hers; she had put forth the proposal, written the grant request, pulled together and interviewed the team. Really the only thing she _hadn't _done was discover the planet, but how hard was that? Now _making _something of that discovery… That meant much more in the giant scheme of things.

Oh, sure, she'd interned in several very prestigious projects, and had served under quite a few of the big names and experts of the field, both Vulcan and Terran alike. Ever since graduating from the academy with her degree, she'd been constantly working—she probably had enough joint vacation time for one solar year. But this was the first assignment with her stamp of approval, pieces of her at every level, at every stage. Her flesh, her blood, her sweat.

_Mine_.

And they wanted to take it away.

Stopping in the hall she found herself rubbing the heel of her hand to her heart, looking out one of the scenic windows at the starry sky beyond a ruined city. Feeling suddenly and incredibly cold she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd stopped to throw her robe on over the blue silk pajamas. Out there were the remains of a culture, one that would provide them so many keys to both the past _and _the future. But was the project the only thing here she didn't want to lose?

Before she could trust herself to consider the answer, she heard the sound of a hailing coming from the control room. Paling and then grim, only too able to imagine who it could be, she tiredly trudged around the corner to accept.

"It's incredibly early—or late, depending—so _what _do you need, Captain?"

It didn't escape him that she sounded almost bone-weary, resigned. It was his job to notice, after all. But he could tell she was shoring herself up for whatever news he could dish out. In respect to that, he broke it without any banter or stalling.

"Doctor, I'm afraid the decision from Starfleet is in, and your project is halted until further notice." One beat, two.

"I guess I can't say I wasn't expecting it." Shoving a hand through her loose blonde hair Moira fought against the cold, hard slap of disappointment, but another thought hit her, more serious in the immediate future, and her voice became intensely wary. "Why _did _you call so early? That would have waited until morning—_just _that."

Smart woman he thought, only a tiny tug of appreciation escaping through his businesslike attitude. It became all the more imperative to get her—all of them—onto the ship, immediately. "We received late intelligence that Klingon Warbirds are swiftly returning to this area, and with their sophisticated cloaking devices may in fact already _be _here. We aren't taking chances, so you and your crew are required to beam aboard as soon as possible." He was sorely tempted to tack _now _onto the end, but held his tongue. She would get the message easily enough.

Freezing, Moira tried to think past the blood that had turned to ice pounding in her ear. Of course he had implied that the Klingons were near their space, had been there before, but that was when she hadn't _known _about it. Swallowing the dread and the instinctual fear, she held on to what was left—sheer back-boned determination.

"Of course, Captain, I understand. I'll go wake the others immediately. Here," fiddling with the computer, Moira sent the coordinates of their storage room to the Enterprise transporter. "That's almost everything we've uncovered during the entire run. Just do a wide-scan beam. We'll get the rest."

Preoccupied with how much needed done, she forgot to turn off the line, and on the ship Kirk could hear her mutter fading as she left the console. He would worry more about the library when he had the living people safe—they were top priority.

"Get Scotty to the transporter room; I have a feeling we'll need him on this. I want everyone else on alert—even if we encounter the Klingons, we have to attempt to avoid confrontation _at all costs_. While we're fighting the shields would have to go up, and I don't want those people stranded down there when the Klingons have shown that they have no qualms about blasting planets. Understood?" Nods all-around. "Good. I'll give her points for spine—I just hope she can manage to hurry, too."

* * *

Being a strictly self-disciplined person most of the time, Moira had no trouble calling on herself to do what had to be done. Personal thoughts and feelings could wait until the danger was over, or at least until the others were safe. Finding a wall intercom, Moira tapped into the loud-speakers and cleared her throat.

"Hey everyone, Moira here. There's trouble in space, and we're going into evacuation mode. Please prepare accordingly, and I'll be by everyone's rooms to make sure you're all up. Thanks, and don't panic." _Yet_, her mind added somewhat wickedly, but she blanked that out.

Luckily everyone lived in a closely-knit dorm wing, (except for her anyway,) so it wasn't hard to find them all. Light sleepers, Lena and Ryan stood in the hall, more worried than tired with sweatshirts thrown on over their night clothes. Eric's curls were tousled, nearly standing on-end, and he was yawning widely enough to crack his jaw, but he was also accounted for. Seeing her coming, all three of them immediately tensed for orders. She regretted that they were frightened, but maybe that would spur them to move faster. They could harness the fear, like she was, and make something useful out of it.

"We're beaming to the Enterprise as soon as possible. Grab anything important and get to the transporter room, stat. Don't worry about storage, I've already given Kirk the coordinates, so he should be able to get the artifacts without any trouble. Go as soon as you get there, all right? It's all set up."

"Now wait Moira," Ryan objected, reaching out to grab her shoulder. Struck by how much smaller she looked in pajamas with her hair down and her glasses off, he shook his head and loosened his grip. He was smart enough to infer the reasons for the evacuation, but that wasn't his concern at the moment. "What about you? We won't leave without you."

"Of course not!" Lena agreed, horrified at the very thought. Moira gently but assertively released herself from Ryan's well-meaning hand and stepped back, brushing interfering wisps of hair behind her ears impatiently.

"I'll be right along, but I have to get the stuff I was working on, not to mention the files in the safe. Don't worry, just go, we're wasting time."

Not too proud to escape before they could pin her down, Moira managed to flee and avoid further comment. She had things to do, and even if she could hear Eric's tired, belayed oath reverberating in the hall, she refused to be cowed. As long as they were safely out of the way, she could do what needed to be done without worrying.

Praying for time, Moira hurried in the opposite direction of rescue.

* * *

Klingons were a warrior species in every definition of the word. Their people praised honor, ruthlessness and strength above all else, and their obsession with rites and traditions rivaled even Vulcans. It wasn't the first time Kirk ever had to deal with one of their battle cruisers, but he never exactly reveled in the experience. Klingons were blood-thirsty, war-mongering, and their almost complete lack of fear was often unnerving in battle situations. They were best avoided, and certainly not opponents to be taken lightly when fighting was inevitable. In this case, however, fighting wasn't an option. It simply wasn't feasible, not if he wanted all of his people to make it out alive—and he did. Even in normal circumstances he would have found a way to wiggle and cajole his way out of direct combat, but what with Moira and her team on-planet, the odds were severely in favor of the enemy.

His one saving grace going in was that the Klingons, hopefully, would be too preoccupied with their battle-lust to figure out the real reason for their presence. This was part of the space often contested between the Federation and the Empire, and although it was in all technicality Federation property, nobody loved to stir the waters and see what came to the surface more than a Klingon. They would poke, prod, and wheedle until the tides were in their favor for a war.

Kirk wasn't there to give in to that desire today. His job was clear; clear, not simple. Get the scientists and get out. There were ambassadors and politicians and higher-ups to deal with the destruction of Federation planets. For the moment, _he_ was concerned with the immediacy of human life.

Knowing his time was up at the beep from Uhura's board, Kirk nonetheless turned towards her. Moira had left her own communications open, so the choices were limited, and the Lieutenant's face was dark with confirming apprehension. He nodded, and she put the hailing onto the main viewing screen.

Because Kirk was in command, and in many situations expected to act as much diplomat as Captain, he had been trained to look for the distinguishing qualities in members of all species. Maybe it was something that came naturally and made him especially good at what he did, he wasn't sure. To his critical eye he could tell that he had never met this particular Klingon before, but perhaps to someone less practiced they never would have known the difference. Browned skin, weathered and almost indestructible-looking, a prominently ridged forehead, beaten features that proved this was a man who had gone into battle many times and come out on top. The dark eyes were shrewd and yet bright with the prospect of a battle, and Kirk did his best to appear authoritative while still calm and collected. It wouldn't do to give the Klingon any more of a rush than necessary. Instinctively he could feel the eyes of the bridge on him, but there was nothing any of them could do at the moment. Prepping for battle was out, so they were, essentially, sitting ducks.

"Federation vessel, I am Korus of the Klingon Empire. What business do you have here in our space?" Bemused at the blatant attempt at baiting, Kirk maneuvered himself easily around and kept his own voice neutral in response to the deep, booming announcement of Korus.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. The Federation has dispatched us to determine what's been happening to the planets of this sector. Protocol, of course. Can we safely assume you are the ones responsible for their destruction?" With a carelessly boisterous laugh Korus waved off the comment with a large, armored hand.

"Oh Kirk, will the Federation never stop sending their dogs to do a warriors work? Yes, it was us. We were ordered to examine these planets for potential use to the Empire. Unfortunately none seemed… Adequate. We dispatched them."

Now it took Kirk a little more time to remain aloof. Dispatched? There had been fledgling ports and settlements on several of the planets, other research outposts like the one he was now circling. Nothing hit him harder like the useless and wasteful loss of life, and in the arms of his chair his knuckles whitened with the intensity of his grip. Of course he was much too skilled and trained to let it show on his face, so that his dark-blond eyebrows simply winged up in casual interest.

"Rather short-sighted of you, wasn't it? Surely the planets would have been more useful to you in the long run than warranting their… dispatch." Korus shrugged, the clank of his armor a grating sound on Kirk's strained nerves.

"We have far better planets, and in vast numbers. What need have we to litter out space with useless husks? Especially disobedient ones." He smiled disarmingly, a nasty smile that said he had probably enjoyed the task immensely. Under his flesh Kirk's blood flashed hot, but still his eyes were dispassionate. There would be retribution, oh yes, but not now. Not when he could save where others had been lost.

Taking stock, Kirk considered his options. Under normal circumstances he would have put on a display of force, bullied the Klingons from the premise in terms they could understand. Unfortunately he couldn't do that now, so the best that could be accomplished was buying Moira and her team time. No doubt Korus had returned intent on finishing up their spring cleaning, and already Kirk could see the subtle hints of suspicion rooted in the warrior's eyes. No, not nearly as slow or stupid as he might have hoped. No doubt even a blood-thirsty braggart like Korus could see that Kirk was in no hurry to call him on his crimes, and that there had to be a reason. Turning his head he caught Spock's eye, and with a very small nod his meaning leapt between them. More than once he wondered if Spock could in fact read his mind, seeing as that connection was one of the things that made them the best Captain-First Officer team in Starfleet. Regardless, he was glad for it once again as he saw the Vulcan go to stand behind Uhura, placing an urgent message to the base on Vergon.

"If that was the case, why did you leave this planet alone?" Outwardly indifferent, Kirk seemed to glance at a chart on the wall while he was signaling for contact from Spock. "Too dead to even pretend to be useful?"

"Why indeed," murmured Korus in a way that had Kirk's pulse scrabbling. It hadn't been a good move, but the chessboard was quickly running out of places for his king to flee. Spock wouldn't have been impressed. "Our casual scans showed it to be the least habitable and possessing no resources worth mentioning. We have, however, been watching you for some time, Captain Kirk. Why have _you _chosen to remain in orbit here?"

"We suspected you were probably cloaked," acknowledged the Captain with a nod, just the slightest indications of derision in his gaze. "It's quite predictable."

"Are you suggesting that Klingon's have need of hiding?" Korus thundered, his previously amused face replaced by injured pride and anger. Kirk had pushed the button on purpose, hoping to distract from Vergon. Unfortunately it wouldn't work for long. "We could have blasted your starship out of the sky days ago, _Kirk_. Remember that. Why have you not taken the same precautions? Even now we see upon scanning your ship that you are not armed, you are not even on alert. Do you not fear the Empire? Or, perhaps, are you trying to evade a fight?"

Hit it in one Kirk lamented in his mind. Damn.

"Perhaps we missed something in our initial scans. Something you want on this seemingly-worthless planet. I will discover what it is, and relieve you of your concern so that you may fight with me like a true warrior. I refuse to simply destroy you. I believe I'll make you work for it first."

"Why would you waste time and energy blasting a planet that's of no use to you?"

"Seeing you squirm is enough, Kirk. More than enough. Your concern alone makes this planet of much interest to me. Bij'Kah! Scan the planet again, this time a full scan. We will see what we see. And after I destroy this planet, I will destroy your ship. _Jegh!_" His menacing face suddenly blinked off the viewer, and Kirk was left with an almost dizzying sight of space again. The Klingon warbird was clearly visible now, and it looked as friendly as a cobra as it too orbited the harmless, defenseless planet below. Kirk rounded in his chair.

"Uhura…"

"They've cut all transmissions, Captain. I tried to get them back, but they're refusing to take our hails. Should I issue a red alert?"

"No," he managed, standing because he could no longer force himself to sit. "No, we can't do that. What's the status, Spock? Did you get that message down there? They have to be here by now."

"Unfortunately no, Captain. I was able to contact one of Dr. Blackwood's team, a Ms. Bennet, who assured me that they were all evacuating into the transporter room. I relayed our situation up here, and after some frantic whispering they agreed to beam over quickly. I took it that Moira was not among the others."

Banging the railing that ran around the middle of the bridge Kirk cursed vehemently. Nothing fancy, and it didn't really make him feel any better, but when he looked back up he knew Spock wouldn't judge him too harshly.

"What could that woman possibly be doing down there? Go down to the transporter room, Mr. Spock. I need to stay here in case Korus deigns to speak to us again before he tries to knock us out of the sky. Keep communications open at all times."

"Yes Captain."

Body humming with adrenaline that had no place to go, Kirk slid himself back into his seat and jabbed a finger at Uhura.

"Put me through, damn it. I need to know what's going on, right now."

* * *

((Reviews are always appreciated, thank you for the people who reviewed on Chapter 1! Been busy here, but I use this story as a sort of release from everything else, so

although it may not be updated with any sort of regularity, be assured I won't forget it. At the very least I have the entire next chapter planned out, and probably most of

Chapter 4 as well. Fun times are ahead on the Enterprise-- or, well, tumultuous ones, anyway! Thanks again, Loserx0rz.


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